my relationship with her, something is happening-- suddenly I find boring what she says and I drop out of conversations without a warning-- suddenly I don't want to touch her or hug her for too long and I'd rather hug someone on the tram-- then i take it back, but then the thought is solid for a moment and I look at it as if it isn't mine--
She says something to me and I look at her for a second too long, because something slips into my mind in between, the thou-- the thought, why are we together? why do I live here? Then I lean my forehead against the cold pane over the low courtyard by the round roofs, astonished to see how I am just letting this love go, when I know love it's so precious and rare, I would find hard to forgive me afterwards, I think, for having let this rare and precious love go, and where-- and her pain and frustration--
It's like if my hands were just to weak to cling at it-- "shitty hands" my father used to call me when stuff dropped from my hands, then he would slap me hard in the face, so I learned-- Christmas ball, breakfast cup, keys, brand new issue of "Topolino" down the manhole, gas lamp at camping, Aguilas Spain, 19** -- but this has nothing to do with the thing--
I push my forehead against the pane and I think at my mug behind the window from the other side-- is it mysterious? I wish--
Behind my back she is still at the table where we ate and nobody has anything left to say, dirty dishes left to take to the sink, efforts to break through the sphinx my soul is becoming day by day-- whatever a soul is, why-- (curtains)